Page 29 of His Bride

“Why do they keep talking about our babies?” I murmur the question to him when we get a brief moment somewhat on our own.

“There is a theory that the matching is done by way of controlling future genetics. The Artifice does not operate the way men do, with a short-term view of the world. It knows it is building the world yet to come. Short-term pain is acceptable if it leads to long-term gain.”

We have been immediately overheard. People cluster around us, men desperate to be in Arthur’s orbit. They have a particular puppyish energy that makes me realize just how respected he is. I knew Archon-General was an important position, but Arthur is more than merely important. He is a legend among these men.

“In other words, the ends justify the means,” a lady says. She smiles as she says it, as if she knows she is putting a cat amongst the pigeons.

Again, I feel tension fizzling in the air. We did not talk about the Artifice much at home. It was not a subject of discussion, much less controversy.

The men scowl at the women they have brought, but the women seem unconcerned. A woman’s interaction with the Artifice is usually limited to whether she is selected or not, so maybe it is simply because the great authority is an irrelevance to these people. It used to seem like an irrelevance to me.

Emmaline takes me by the hand, drawing me away from Arthur’s side with a broad and knowing smile.

“Come with me, dear. The ladies socialize together. It gives our men the chance to spend time together and talk shop without having to pretend to be civilized.”

There is a smattering of laughter at her comment, which I take to be accurate.

The ladies’ lounge is a plush, ornate space. This venue is grand in many ways, but the area set aside for female conversation is especially beautiful. It is also popular. Emmaline leads me through the space, introducing me here, there, and everywhere. Everybody is nice to me because everybody has to be nice to her.

The women are wild, charming, and witty. Some of them are matched and married, but there are plenty of noble-born ladies who were never selected by the Artifice to become mothers, and have pursued their own interests. They are colorful, strident, exciting characters with much to say, all of it scandalous. I think any of these women could hold their own against that terrible sex shop purveyor who made me blush and tremble at his inappropriate words.

Unfortunately, a great many of them feel quite comfortable commenting on me as if I am not in the room.

Emmaline introduces me around. Everybody is passingly polite, with the exception of a duchess who clearly had designs on my husband for herself. I am beginning to understand that Arthur was very much the prize of New Boston society before my arrival.

“So this is who the Artifice chose for Arthur. Fascinating,” Duchess Bouquet says. She is a very beautiful woman whose dress shimmers with wonderful radiance. Maraline would love her, I think. They both have a tendency toward heavy makeup.

“She’s very young,” she continues, talking to nobody in particular and everybody at the same time. “Are you old enough to be married?”

“I am nineteen,” I say.

“Nineteen! Well, the Artifice must be well pleased with Arthur Darken indeed. No self-possessed girl in her twenties who knows her mind for him. No, he’s been given a little country lamb. I imagine he has enjoyed you greatly.”

The woman is trying to shame me, I think. She is making crude references to the bedroom, implying that I am some prize because of my youth and innocence. It is not a compliment. If anything, it dismisses who I am.

I look her dead in the eye, and I answer simply, “Yes, he has. And I he.”

A raucous laugh goes up around the room. Emmaline squeezes my hand and smiles at me warmly. “You are going to fit in very well here,” she says.

The conversation is more genuinely polite and welcoming from that point onward, though there are still some scandalous moments.

“Do you want to bear a baby?” One of them asks me the question. I consider it briefly, though not too deeply, because I know it’s not really an option. I will bear a baby eventually. Several, probably. It’s what I was put here to do.

“I don’t know,” I say, more confused by the question than anything.

“She’s just a child,” Emmaline says, apparently having reached the end of some invisible tether. “It’s a shameful match.Shouldn’t be allowed! I don’t see why the Artifice couldn’t wait to match her.”

The women do not hide their questioning of the Artifice the way the men do. There’s a ripple of agreement in the crowd. Quite scandalous, really.

“I, er, I thought you weren’t allowed to say that the Artifice could be wrong?” I ask the question with as much tact as I can muster.

Emmaline gives me a slow, catlike smile. Her magnetic personality makes it possible for her to say anything she likes and for it to be received well.

“The rules about never questioning the Artifice are for two groups of people—our husbands and the poor. We are well-to-do women, and women have always borne the true responsibility of society. The Artifice is… well, a distraction. You will learn that soon enough.”

I cannot believe what I am hearing. It’s blasphemy. It’s seditious. It’s dangerous talk—and I have to admit, it is rather thrilling to be around.

“Here,” the grand lady says casually. “Sniff this.”

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